


Golden Glock

by darklink234



Series: Notesz-b OfficeAU darksiders universe [1]
Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, OfficeAU, Sexual Content, Slice of Life, mature - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 17:30:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17084621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darklink234/pseuds/darklink234
Summary: Shiloh finds herself waking up in a horseman’s condo apartment in the OfficeAU universe created by the artist notesz-b. This first chapter is rather short, but they get longer.





	1. Chapter 1

A major headache, sore body, a tad bit of nausea.  
Yeah, it was a hangover. She rubbed her face and blindly searched for her phone on her nightstand. As her hand explored the surface, she noticed it felt different. The wood was smoother, and to go along with the touch, it smelled faintly of cologne.

A strong cologne. 

The crust from her mascara made it difficult to open her eyes, but once she did, realization hit her like a delivery truck.

“Shit,” it wasn’t her shabby apartment, but what appeared to be a fancy condo. The walls were painted a blinding white, and the various furnitures and accessories in the room were a dark wood. Modern, but there was something very classic and timeless about it. 

“The fuck,” she rolled out of the luxurious sheets and scanned the room for her purse, “Not here.”   
She then scanned the room for a person. She was so drunk last night, she could only faintly make out his appearance. He was tall, she remembered that, definitely. Dark skinned... black hair? Yeah, something like that.

He wasn’t in the room. Looked like he had already woken up and was probably getting ready. The door was cracked, so he was more than likely waiting for her to come out and find him.   
Another thing she noticed was that she hadn’t undressed. Her little black party dress was still on along with her nylons. 

She exit the room, and noted how big the door actually was. Was he that tall?   
She was met with a long hallway, more white walls and the occasional wooden stand with a sculpture or fancy vase. This guy definitely had some dough. 

‘Jackpot,’ she thought with a snicker.   
Before entering what she assumed was the living room, a cat turned the corner and froze upon seeing the woman.

She gave a light gasp, “Awwh, an American Curl,” she kneeled, offering her hand, “Can I pet ya?” In response, the feline merely flicked back around the corner, out of sight. 

She sighed in disappointment, “Damn,” she followed the cat around the corner and was met with a living room, kitchen, and a wall that was nothing but windows. There was also a large balcony that had a pool and a plethora of Greek sculpture. The light from outside was blinding given the fact that the windows were so large and walls so white. He obviously enjoyed the sun.   
She also noted the fact that everything was a tad bit larger in comparison to a human home.   
‘A non-human?’ It didn’t seem like a demon’s home. Too clean and fresh. Couldn’t be an angel’s home either. Too much human influence as far as architecture and style. Who was this guy?   
She still didn’t seem to find him until she spotted the cat again. Apparently, it was able to make its way outside to the balcony. It hopped onto a small table next to a large armchair, staring to what lied in the seat. It also eyeballed the cup of coffee next to him. The cat slowly reached out to swat it off the table...

...until a hand went out to reach for it.   
The cat begrudgingly jumped off the table and scampered off, as if it just got its feelings hurt.   
The man that sat in the chair stood. He was tall, most definitely. He only wore a pair of comfy sweats. His skin wasn’t just dark, but a burgundy/purple. And for some reason, when the sun hit it just right, it faintly had a gold highlight. His hair was probably one of the more interesting things about his appearance. Length wise, it probably went just passed his ears, but it floated, defying gravity, like a lit candle dancing with the breeze. But definitely black in color, as she remembered. 

The man lazily looked over his shoulder, his eyes meeting hers as if he knew she was there the whole time. 

Even from where she stood, she could see just how yellow his eyes were. Sharp and precise, and never miss. 

Just as her heart began to race from fear, doubt, arousal, and excitement all at once, he smirked.   
A shit-eating smirk.


	2. Golden Glock: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiloh drinks coffee with Strife, and realizes who he ACTUALLY is.

Strife sat at the kitchen bar gradually working on the cup of coffee he whipped up. He made one for the girl, too, but she only held it between her palms, like she was afraid of embarrassing herself. Grief sat on the counter next to his master, also eyeballing the girl. His tail flicked impatiently, as if trying to send a nonverbal message to Strife. Strife’s eyes flicked to Grief and narrowed, replying to his silent plea.   
Strife took another sip of his creamer with some coffee and sighed, “Here,” he reached in his pocket and slid her phone and hand purse to her, “The cat would have had its way with it had I not taken it.”   
The woman’s eyes widened, but she then sighed with relief, accepting them back, “Thank you.”

“Mn.”

Now that she was closer to him, she noticed his face was lightly freckled, and so were his shoulders. She was also able to smell his cologne. It was almost revolting how overpowering it was. 

Strife’s gaze went to her again, and he quickly noticed how she looked away upon realizing. It brought a smirk and chuckle out of him. Her skin had a pink glow to it already, but with the blush, she looked more like a tomato. With that, he studied just how blue her eyes were. He dare say, they might have just been as piercing as his own, but in a different way. Deep brown hair that reached passed her… awh. Those are nice. The little black dress she wore definitely gave ‘em a little push didn’t they.   
He set down his drink and approached her, leaning his elbow on the counter and examining her from above. To his surprise, she didn’t cower away, but looked back up at him to lock eyes with him. A stare-off.   
“You know,” his voice had a rough, outside of London accent. Deep and luring, “We never got to have a moment to ourselves,” he leaned in, “If you like, we can fool around,” her eyes widened, as if they were about to pop out of her skull, but it only made his seductive smirk grow. 

“Um,” her brow raised, “I’m not that drunk anymore,” she stood from the bar stool, fixing her skirt and grabbing her things, “I actually have a job interview today.”

Now it was his turn to look confused, his head jerked back in offense, “Wait,” he raised his hand, and shook his head dismissively while chuckling, “I just let you sleep in my luxury home and made you coffee. You don’t think I deserve a little something?”

She looked at him judgmentally for a moment, but failed to keep away the light snort, “Ha! You think that deserves sex?! Look, man,” she walked passed him and headed for the door, “One, I don’t think I’m your type. Two, that comment you just made was a huge turn off. And three,” she turned the door knob, “We’re probably never going to see each other again.”

Strife’s expression could only be described as priceless as she strut out the door. He put his hands in his pockets and huffed through his nose. Grief purred in contentment. 

“No,” Strife’s head jerked towards the feline, “I’ve been denied before, you little shit. That’s not what pisses me off,” he looked back to the door, visually deflating, “I’ve never been told I was a turn off.”

\---

Strife sat at his desk dressed in his usual suit and tie, only this time, he wore a gold clip to keep his tie in place. A nice accent. He scanned the interviewee’s resume. Their name was Shiloh Breyman, an experienced technician. 

The office desperately needed a head for the technicians department…

The last few that they had were either fired mercilessly or they quit. Each one, however, was scared shitless of the horsemen bosses. Strife was elected to interview the next one because he never once interviewed someone simply out of pure laziness. He was late to work on account of what happened in the morning. If he didn’t come interview this poor soul, he’d have to deal with his brother. No, thank you. 

Soon, his assistant knocked, “Um, sir?”

“Just let them in,” he stated without looking up from the resume. 

“Yes, sir,” swiftly, Macon could be heard letting the interviewee know Strife was ready for them, and the faint sound of heels could be heard outside the door.

Shiloh lifted her gaze to look up at her interviewer. The room was unnecessarily big, so it took her a few moments to realize who was sitting at the desk at the other end of the room.

And just like his home, one wall was completely made of windows, giving a spectacular view of the bustling city. 

Strife hadn’t even bothered to look up from the paper yet, “Have a seat Miss Breyman.”

“I don’t think I need to.”

Strife looked up from the resume to send a daring glare to whoever the fuck just spoke to him like that, but the daring gaze immediately transformed into one of shock, “No, fuckin’ way.”

“Way,” she sighed, “Well, I’m just gonna leave. I’m obviously not getting this position, so,” she shrugged, “See ya around,” she turned on her heel, but before she could make a step forward, Strife jumped from his seat.

“Wait!” he grumbled when she looked over her shoulder to listen, “Close the door, and lets talk.”

She snorted, “What? So you can bang me without being ca--”

“That’s not what this is about! Just shut the fuckin’ door!” He emphasized his words with a sharp gesture of his arm.

“Excuse me?” She crossed her arms, glaring right back at him. An unlikely response to one of the horsemen.

He growled, baring his teeth, “Look you little-- Mnn,” he sighed, resting both palms on the edge of the desk, “Please… close the door.”

Shiloh nodded, “Alright,” her heels clacked hard on the tile floor as she went to shut the door. She turned back and walked to his desk, but not sitting, “What is it?”

Strife was infuriated at her challenging nature, and if he truly had it his way, he would have thrown her out the goddamn window. However, he retained his composure, for the sake of professionalism. He removed his hands from the desk and crossed his arms, “The job is yours.”

“Wait, I haven’t even--”

“You won’t need to. It’s yours. I’ve read your resume, you seem eligible enough,” his gaze narrowed, “Just take it.”

Shiloh narrowed back at him. At this point, the desk was the only thing separating the two. If it hadn’t been there, they would be torso to torso, “Explain.”

“I don’t have to explain shit to you, human,” he gave a sarcastic smile.

“And I don’t have to take shit from you,” she laid her hands on the table, standing her ground, “Non-human.”

There was silence for a good ten seconds before Strife gave in, realizing this one wasn’t going to budge, and pulling out Mercy would have drastic consequences, “You’re just as stubborn as that fuckin’ Amber.”

“Who?”

“Nevermind,” he raked his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath through his large nostrils, “The technicians we’ve had in the past were insufficient, and it’s proving difficult to hire a new one that’s any good.”

She raised an eyebrow, and rested a hand on her hip, “I’m listening.”

“If I don’t hire you after having such an outstanding resume, I won’t hear the end of it.”

Shiloh gave a nod, and extended her hand out to him, “You have a deal... Missssterrr?”

“Strife,” he went to shake her hand, relieved she had accepted, but she pulled away slightly. 

“But I want a five dollar raise,” Strife flared his nostrils, and she continued, “And that’s as far as I’ll milk it,” Shiloh gave an actually genuine smile.

Upon seeing it, Strife’s face finally relaxed. 

And the two shook hands.


	3. Golden Glock: Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strife has a bitterness for her, and his kin find it entertaining. Shiloh does a little bonding with his cat, too.

“I don’t understand why you dislike her, brother,” War crossed his giant arms, looking over the third level balcony into the lobby below, “She’s headstrong.”

Strife only grumbled, leaning against the railing. All the while, the worker bees passed by too and fro and coward under his gaze, “Yeah, and annoying.”

The horsemen weren’t so much highly impressed that she was actually able to do her job, but more like satisfied. Like a weight lifted off their shoulders. 

Especially for the technology department. The pressure was over. For now…

In the lobby below, Shiloh and the people under her were raising a giant speaker into each corner of the room. Each one directly connected to the horsemen’s offices. Each floor would have the same thing. This way, communication with the rest of the building would be more effective. It seemed people had a hard time actually reading their emails and getting the memo. This was more like the horsemen’s styles, anyway. 

Direct.

Shiloh wore her hair in a side braid and a company ballcap with the horseman symbol on it. Her t-shirt had the same emblem on the side. She wore cargo pants to keep all her necessary tools on her at all times, “Alright, I’m gonna go to Death’s office and test it out. Think you’ll be alright without me?”

“Yes!” Called Jeremy. He was a young man, fresh out of college. He was in charge of installing the speakers themselves for the current project. 

“Alrighty,” she turned on the headset in one of her ears, “I’ll keep in touch with you when I play with it.”

Strife’s eyes followed her as she made her way to the elevator, “Tch.”

As if she knew, her head turned to look right back at him, “Tch.”

Strife clenched the railing, bending the metal. His nostrils flared as he regarded his younger brother, “Is there a reason we stopped being proper horsemen?”

War scanned his brother, becoming rather amused at his brother’s aggression. It was only a mere human woman. Why was he so bothered?   
“You and I both know why, Strife.”

“She’s so smug,” he growled, “Thinks she’s so cunning.”

“You seem to forget you hired--”

“AAAAAND?!”

\---- 

Death’s office was dark and minimal. Not much light came into the room other than a small sliver of a window that was on the wall behind him. Death clicked the remote for the screen that protruded from the wall on his left. It was all apart of the new communication system throughout the building. Much more convenient than what they had previously. Unlike his brothers and sister, he was a fast learner, so the new piece of technology was no challenge for him. 

Shiloh hadn’t even knocked before Death spoke up, “Come in.”

Shiloh quietly opened the door and closed it just as much. She approached his desk before speaking up, “We’re setting up the sound system, if you’d allow me to mess with yours a bit to test it out,” even for Shiloh, this man was… intimidating. His words were always clear, his tone displaying exactly what he wanted it to, and most of all, his eyes. 

Strife’s were sharp, yeah, but Death’s…  
Shallow on top of that. 

Maybe she just hadn’t known him long enough, yet. It had only been a week since she started working there. But damn, he was scary. His hair was blacker than the worst oil spill in history, and the tips just reached passed his shoulders. His face looked aged enough to be about forty in human years, but she doubted a non-human like him was that young.

The fact that he looked aged made her wonder just how old he really was.

“My brother, War, says you’re not exactly Strife’s favorite person,” his eyes flicked to her in a millisecond, just to see how she’d react. Strife, he knew, disliked many people. Only difference between her and them was that he knew why he disliked them. She was a mystery to him, and that needed to change. As he suspected, he saw that her body language became more… guarded, “Care to indulgence me?”

Shiloh clenched her fists on either side of her waist, but eventually relaxed, “Sir, if you don’t mind, I don’t think that’s an appropriate conversation to be having in a work setting.”

Death sighed, sounding a tad aggravated. He turned away from the screen and rested his arms on his desk, crossing them. It wasn’t very often he had an employee that wouldn’t do as he asked. In most cases, he would have ordered them the second time around, leaving no room for question. What made him do the opposite of his usual was the fact that she looked determined, even against him.

‘Alright,’ he thought to himself, ‘I’ll let you keep your pride, human.’

“Fine,” he squinted slightly at her, “But you will answer me this.”

Shiloh’s jaw popped to the side, “Alright.”

“Will it get in the way of your work?” His brow raised with the word work. 

“Never.”

Death scanned her, looking for any sign of dishonesty. He found nothing, “Well, Miss Shiloh,” he stood from his seat and brushed passed his desk. He approached her side and concluded, “I’ll leave you to your work,” his steps were heavy and precise as he exited the room. He left the door cracked, and from the crack, a black cat emerged and gracefully made its way to the top of his desk. It regarded her curiously and gave a soft purr, almost as if it was telling her ‘Don’t mind me.’ 

Shiloh sighed, relieved to see the feline. She realized after working there for a period, that each horsemen had their own cat. She had no idea why, but she did not complain. They were nice company, “You’re the good cat, aren’t you?”

It blinked slowly as a response.

“Awh. I see,” she smiled softly, “You’re the mature one.”

\--- 

Strife tapped his finger impatiently against the dark wood table. During the lunch hour, the horsemen lingered on a balcony overlooking the lunch hall. Strife and his sister, Fury, sat at the table while War and Death stood on either side of it. The lunch hall was packed at the moment. Some were eating their homemade meals. Others ordering from the food bar. Some were only drinking coffee. Strife was only looking for that woman, of course. Eventually, Shiloh walked into the hall and set her water bottle down on a small table next to a giant window. She enjoyed looking out at the cityscape and people watching, it seemed. She had been doing it everyday since she has started working there.

Every. Day.

Strife sneered, and his tapping stopped. He rested his knuckle on his lips, mumbling curses to himself as he stalked her with his eyes. Fury chuckled at his brother’s irritation, “Mumbling your ill will not keep you from your hatred, brother.”

War smirked, “Although, it is entertaining,” Death mirrored his brother’s amused expression as he took another puff of his expensive cigar. 

Death hummed, “I like her.”

Now that received a reaction from the rider of Conquest. His nostrils flared in lividity, and he stood from his seat. His anti-gravity hair visibly raised and wagged in irritation, like an angry flame, “She. Is. A. Wench.”

Death could care less if his brother got fired up, but what raised his curiosity and caused his gaze to glide in his brother’s direction was at the word wench, “Strife, who is this woman to you?” He blew the cigar smoke slowly, painfully so, “Surely, she cannot be a wench if you’ve never--”

“Choose your words carefully, Death,” At this point, Strife was practically in his brother’s face, and Death could feel the hot breath from his nostrils on his cheek. 

The pale rider was just about finished with his cigar when he pulled a smirk, “You are too easy to read, brother,” before Strife could retort, Death glowered, “And you have precisely a millisecond.”

\---

Shiloh observed all who passed by on the street. Everyone on the planet was so diverse now. She wondered how diverse it was in her hometown, or if it even still existed. She would go back…

...eventually.

Something caught her attention from the corner of her eye, and lo and behold, it was Strife’s feline. It eyeballed her water bottle, and thankfully, it was plastic. Shiloh smiled, “Go ahead.”

Grief’s eyes widened in surprise. Was she really giving him permission? He slowly brought his paw up, as if testing her sincerity, but she only nodded for him to continue. Blissfully, Grief swat the water bottle, causing it to fall over on the table. Also, thankfully, the lid was still on. 

She chuckled and flipped the bottle upright, and Grief squinted suspiciously. Why would she put it back up?! That wasn’t part of the rules! 

He knocked it over again, and observed her reaction, and again, she put it back up. This irritated him to no end, and the cycle continued for a few more rounds until he knocked it over for the last time, only this time, she spoke, “You know, you keep knocking over that bottle. But it keeps getting up. Have you ever wondered what the point is?” The American Curl fidgeted in anticipation as she put the water bottle up again, only this time, she held it in place, “Soon, I’m gonna drink what’s left in this water bottle. And once I do, there’ll be nothing for you to knock over because I’m gonna throw it in the recycle bin.”

Grief’s ear twitched, and he sorrowfully replied, “Meeorrr..”

She giggled, as if she could understand him, “No, silly, I can’t just give it to you because you’ll never be able to get it back up yourself,” Grief almost looked like he was pouting, but it made her smile, “You’ll only ever want to knock it down.”

As if on cue, a loud crash could be heard coming from one of the higher floors. Both Shiloh and Grief jolted and looked up to wherever it came from. Their eyes followed the figure falling into the bottom floor and shards of glass accompanied him. 

It was Strife.

Everyone gasped as the rider seemed to be heading face first into the ground. Swiftly, Strife adjusted himself to head feet first, and once just the balls of his feet touched the tile floor, he backflipped, and continued the gymnastic performance until he reached the coffee bar on the opposite end of the room. 

On his last flip, he faced in the direction of Death, and stood from his kneeled position. His suit was torn in some places. Some from the glass, others from the act. Nonetheless, he quickly discarded it and through it to the side with a nasty growl, baring his canines.

Without looking, he reached behind him towards the bar and pulled a metal handle from one of the coffee machines. As he threw it, his aim was precise and true as it flew towards Death’s skull. Death, of course, simply moved aside as it moved passed his head and into the wall behind him. 

He chuckled darkly, and called out across the lunch hall, “Surely, a millisecond was enough, brother!”

The three remaining horsemen on the upper floor simply disappeared into the hallways as Strife gave an animalistic battle cry, “COME DOWN HERE AND FIGHT ME!”

By that time, everyone in the lunch hall had already fled. This wasn’t a normal occurrence, but definitely not surprising. It was harder for non-humans to get away from such behavior. 

Only one remained, and that was Shiloh. She had stood from her seat, having witnessed the entire scene. Strife’s gaze darted in her direction, silently surprised she even stayed, “Can I help you?” He snarled.

She scowled at him, but a small bit of fear still shined through in her eyes, “No. But can I help you, sir?”

His nose twitched, and he slowly fixed his posture. It was embarrassing for him that she saw it, which was exactly what Death’s intention was. Luckily though, she had no clue what it was about, so he remained cool, or at least, tried. He fixed his cuff, and huffed, heading for the exit, “Just get back to work, human.”


	4. Golden Glock: Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strife has been summoned by the council...

The next day, Strife was called into the Council’s office.

Only, their office was quite a ways away from the location of the Horsemen’s building. It was clear on the opposite side of the city, and their building was much more… imposing. 

As Strife drove up with his lamborghini to the front of the building, he sneered at it. Although Strife was quite the rebel, he turned down his loud bass music as he approached the building. The tower was literally a jet black color, and the exterior appeared to be made out of an iridescent metal that looked like a red-orange when the light hit it just right. Surrounding the building were several stoneworks that appeared to be the work of Makers. Some were decorative, others had chiselled murals that told a story of the past. The largest stonework of all was a fountain placed in the middle of the roundabout leading to the entrance. They were three giant mounds of rock with horrific faces that imposed fear drooled lava into the pool below them. No one in the vicinity dared approach the fountain of molten lava. 

As Strife rolled up, a watcher immediately appeared before him, one with six eyeballs. He floated eagerly, clasping his hands together, “I shall park your car, sir.”

Strife climbed out of the nephilim sized car in a well-tailored, dark grey suit and handed the watcher his keys, “And if you fail to return it as it was, I’ll be sure you never park it again,” the watcher flinched at the horseman’s glare, “Or any other.”

The watcher became visibly ruffled as Strife casually walked up to the two black doors that opened automatically upon his presence. The interior of the tower was empty for the most part. It was almost like walking into the Men in Black building where it was a single room, only the interior walls were the same iridescent black as they were on the outside, and the light sources were magical torches lit on each wall. The occasional Watcher could be seen creeping from the elevator, or perhaps somewhere on the upper floors. If Strife was honest, it gave him the absolute creeps, and he was on high alert. 

A female watcher approached him, rather cautiously, “Sir Strife,” she folded her hands behind her back, “I shall escort you to my masters.”

Strife snickered, staring down at the little sprite, “Sir Strife?” He leaned down, amused at her politeness. Usually, they were annoying as shit. Strife, however, took it as a weakness. He whispered sensually, “Don’t shake.”

As the words left him, the watcher realized she had been shivering underneath his gaze the whole time, and she stopped, quickly flicking the direction of the elevator, “This way, sir.”  
‘Ugh… no fun,’ he thought irritably as he entered the elevator. Clearly, it was going to be a rough ride up.

\---

Strife was met with two sliding, black doors in an endless dark hallway. They had no handles, so he had to wait until the opened the door for him.

‘Bastards.’

After a few moments, the doors slowly opened, and an orange hue spread over Strife’s features as there finally came some sort of light. His steps echoed throughout the large room as he approached the middle. Two construct statues guarded either side of the walls which appeared to be aquariums of lava, and the floor was a dark burgundy that was so clean, one could see their precise reflection. Although, Strife dare not look down at his. 

The three horned figures at the other end of the room all reserved the same chaotic glare as they sat at a long table. There were no other seats, so Strife was left to stand. 

The figure in the middle spoke first, “You… are a fool.”

Strife was silent for a moment, but failed to hold back his snicker, “I feel we’ve already had this conversation.”

The one to the left spoke, and appeared to be blowing black smoke from his nostrils in livid anger, “We have. Only this time…”

“...It will not be a conversation,” the one on the far right finished. 

Strife’s brow raised in question, “Wha-” Before he could finish his sentence, what appeared to be rock hands grabbed at his arms and head, forcing him on his knees. They were the Maker’s constructs that had flanked the walls, only these were obviously being controlled by the Council’s strong magics. Strife growled and shook in protest, but failed to release himself. Eventually, he gave up, looking up at the Council, whom were smirking down at him. Strife’s adrenaline and hatred rose with every second. Of all the things he could shout or spit, none would even come close to how much he fucking hated them. So, he remained silent, letting his yellow glare say everything for him. 

Suddenly, he felt as if his soul threatened to leave his body. All the air he had gathered in his lungs suddenly fled, and his muscles were, in an instant, completely useless. He ground his teeth, but even that could not distract him from the terrible pain he was suffering throughout his whole being. His nose began to bleed, and it slowly passed over his lips chin. Not only that, but flooding memories of his life came to him, making him even more painfully aware of his situation. The slaughter of his brethren being one of them. At this point, the constructs were only there to keep his body up for display. Strife’s vision began to blur, but just before he could go completely blind, his vision returned. However, the aching pain refused to leave. He only had the strength to speak and see, which he knew was the Council’s exact intention. 

“Why d...on’t you j...ust,” a deep, agonizing breath, “Fuc...king kill… me?”

This sparked a chuckle from the figure seated in the middle, and he answered, “Because although you are a fool, horseman...”

“You are not useless,” the one on the right finished. 

Blood dripped from Strife’s lip, “Horse… sshii..it.”

The Council grumbled, sending a silent command to the constructs. One construct took the front of the horseman’s suit along with his collared shirt underneath, and tore it clean off, revealing his muscled torso. Though, obviously, that was not the Council’s focus. One construct placed a large finger over Strife’s mouth while simultaneously holding his head in place. The horseman quickly learned why as he felt a burning, tearing pain right down the middle of his torso. The horseman screamed out in pain from beneath the stone gag as a golden scar appeared from his collarbone down to trim of his pants. 

When it was complete, the pain slowly faded, and the constructs let Strife fall to the floor on all fours. As he stared at his own worthless reflection, he coughed up a warm pool of blood. He lost at least half a gallon of it. The scar was no longer golden, but now appeared to be a giant gash in his skin, also adding to the puddle of blood beneath him. 

“Look up, horseman. We are not finished.”

“Nnnn,” Strife groaned, ready to retort something else before his arms were folded behind his back and another stone finger was shoved in his bloody mouth to shut him up. His gaze was forced to focus on the Council. 

“Your mouth tends to get you into trouble, so you may speak again when you leave our presence,” The left figure stated while tapping his clawed finger on the table. 

Strife’s brow twitched in response. 

“Your job was to find Samael’s and Lilith’s presiding locations, not go to one of their many nightclubs to somehow… investigate,” the middle figure growled, while scraping the table irritably, “As a result, we must also give this duty to one of your brothers. Death shall assist you in your errand.”

The stone finger was shoved farther down as Strife growled in resistance. 

“The decision has been made final,” the middle figure smirked, clasping his clawed hands together, “And let that scar remind you of your place, horseman. For you have a tendency to forget.”

\---

Strife was thrown out of the room, and the giant black doors shut behind him. He laid limp on the floor for a few moments before finally shoving his body up, “Don’t help me.”

Strife had realized his presence as soon as he exit the room. Death loomed, leaning against the wall opposite of the doors, “Would not dream of it, brother.”

Strife pushed himself to stand, holding his still bleeding torso, “Why the fuck are you here?”

“To hear the Council. For what other reason would I be here, Strife? To give you a ride? Perhaps, coddle you?” Death’s sultry voice annoyed the shit out of Strife, but at this point, he was much too tired to snap back at his sarcasm.

“Well, don’t keep them waiting, brother,” he spat blood to the floor. 

“I already have,” Death turned on his heel and paced to the elevator, “The put the entire conversation on a speaker outside of the room.”


	5. Golden Glock: Extra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An extra chapter that doesn’t need the plot of the main story to make sense. A new character has arrived. She cares very much for her father when no one else will.

My father says I was born during the Old World. Humans call it the pre-apocalypse era. It was before the modernization of all races made by the Creator. I’ve read many books regarding the Old World. Novels. Non-fiction. I’ve probably read every angelic text available in the Great Library in the Southern part of the city. Demonic texts are harder to come by, for most of them are, well, cursed, unsurprisingly. Though, I have read a few. Makers also produce manuscripts, but they aren’t as plentiful, because you see, most Makers are not interested in the art of literature. But when they do produce such work, it’s usually a fable of some sort. 

I have a small library of my own. I’ve probably read them all several times. And, to be honest with you, it never gets old. I very much like reading about this pre-modern era. The realms in which these books come from are still very much alive, and I plan on visiting them all. 

It’s the early morning, but I can see that my father has already left for work. Our home is already very quiet, so the only reason I know is because of the empty coffee mug left in the sink. I go to wash it, as per my own routine. 

On days like this, I usually get ready to go to the library to see if they have anything new, or just to reread some of my favorites. I, then, head to my evening job. Now you see, our schedules force us to be away from each other. Today, however, I’ll be going to see my father at work. We need to have a long overdue conversation. 

He used to tell me stories growing up. Stories he’s either heard of or stories of his life. His life stories are ones that I personally cherish, for he’s rather reserved otherwise. Some are funny, others very serious. And some are so extravagant, I wonder if he’s actually telling the truth. Though, my father has never been one to fib. It’s hard to keep a lie from him, also. 

He’s stopped telling me stories years ago. Or, stopped telling me new ones at least. He says there are some things I simply shouldn’t know, and it would be better for me. Though, whenever he says that, I see a strange sadness in his eyes. That sadness has seemed to have grown lately. No one else sees it, and I think it makes him feel rather lonely. I wish he would talk to me more...

I walk over to the mirror in one of our hallways. My hair is the same color as my father’s. Ink black locks that just barely touch my waist. Today, I’ve decided to tie it back in a loose braid. I’m wearing a semi-casual outfit. A white v-neck with a champagne cardigan and black jeans. I look a lot like my father, now that I can get a good look at myself. The only difference is my eyes, for they are green.

—

“Ether?” The secretary flipped through a book of what looked like a list of names with phone numbers. She squinted, scanning the pages carefully, “I’m sorry, I can’t seem to find you.”

Ether smiled and gave her a small chuckle, “I’m his daughter. I wouldn’t be in his list of business affairs. Check the smaller book of priority individuals,” her eyes gestured to the little blue book that sat in a pile of unwanted files. 

The lady nodded awkwardly as she reached for the book. Lo and behold, Ether’s name was at the top, “Awh, there you are, well,” she cleared her throat, “Your father is in a meeting at the moment. Could you—“ 

The door that led into his office flung open, and an angry Horseman huffed and puffed through the threshold, “Fine, you can come along! But I could do a better job on my own!” Strife stomped down the hallway, pushing innocent bystanders out of the way in his wake. 

Ether sighed, “Well, now he’s not,” she giggled, lifting her hand in a thank you gesture as she entered the office. 

Her father sensed another presence in the room, but didn’t look up. He slumped in his chair, massaging the bridge of his nose, “What is it this time?” 

“The building is collapsing on account of Strife’s little episode,” Death’s gaze darted up to find his only offspring standing before him. And as always, she gave him the most loving smile. One he never deserved. 

“Ether,” he nerves calmed, and he took a deep breath through his nose, grumbling all the while, “I apologize for your Uncle’s... behavior.” 

“You needn’t apologize for him, father. He has his own issues,” she approached the desk, setting down another coffee for him. She had grabbed it on her way up, “Here.” 

The fire his eyes blew out at the gesture. She was always so caring for him. So very, aware, of his current feelings. She definitely took after the softer side of himself, and by the Creator, he was thankful. 

She had a coffee for herself, too, and she sipped it as she gazed out the small window of his office, “I’m sorry for arriving by surprise. I just realized I should... talk to you about something.” 

Without looking behind him, he cooly responded, “And that is?” 

Ether hesitated for a moment, but then silently realized she hadn’t come here just to say hello and then leave. She had to tell him, “I’m... moving away.” 

Death would not admit it, but there came a tightness in his chest. But again, he responded cooly, “Good. You need to experience life on your own. Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

Ether rolled her eyes and smiled behind another sip. She turned to approach her father and placed a hand on his shoulder, “You’re a good actor.”

Death scoffed, “Am I really one to lie, my dear?”

“No,” she sat on the desk to face him, “You are not.”

He looked into his daughter’s eyes, and he knew she could practically smell the lie. He chuckled, “I’ve made you too sharp, little one.”

“Maybe,” she leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on his forehead, “Strange that you’ve been lying more often. Tell me... has something happened?”

His fingers gave a slight twitch at the sudden warmth he felt from it. A voice in his head, however, ceased to believed he deserved such bliss. 

“My work is none of your concern, Ether. You needn’t worry about such things.”

“I’m not worried about your work, father,” Ether narrowed her brows, as if she were in slight pain, “I’m worried about you.”

“Ether,” he took her hand, which was warm from the hot coffee she had been holding. His voice was softer now, “I appreciate your concern for me, but there is nothing wrong.”

“Father,” she squeezed his hand back, but with both of her own hands. They seemed so small compared to his. The only thing similar was their skin tone, only she looked healthier. 

She could tell there was no budging him. Perhaps...

“Tell me a story.”

Death raised his brow, “What? Do you want a little, human fairytale?” 

“Enough with the sass, father,” she playfully nudged his shoulder, which only granted her a smirk from him, “A story about you.” 

“Ether,” he sighed, “I don’t have time for th—“

“Yes you do. You have time for me.” 

He closed his eyes, realizing he was not going to win this fight, “Alright,” he began, in quiet tone, “I was walking amongst the sands of—“

“A new story,” she squeezed his hands, and her voice sounds hopeful, “Please...”

Death rested his head on his palm with an exhausted expression, “Dammit, Ether, I’ve told you. You do not need to know such things.” 

Ether gulped, holding back the emotions caught up in her throat. Though, she allowed her eyes to glisten, “Father,” she pulled his hand to her heart, “Please. It’s all I want. It’s all I’ve really wanted for a long time.”

Death grumbled. He really wasn’t going to win, “You are much too good at this,” he sighed, “Very well.

“Me and Strife used to be very close. I was already a fully grown nephilim by the time he came into existence. But, he was the first of my brethren I ever became close with. I taught him how to hunt and fight for his very life. He was a quick learner, I will admit. However, when he reached adulthood, he also picked up on many other... talents. 

He became a master thief. He stole from many of our kin, including Absalom. Absalom was rather impressed by it. I, on the other hand, saw it as a petty sport, and nothing more. 

His habit grew, and eventually, he planned a great heist that involved a good number of our brethren. They were to invade a demon fortress and lay claim to all the goods inside. Strife did return...

...but the rest did not.

The goods were never brought either. It was only Strife. Absalom was sick with rage, however, he did not order for Strife to be executed, but rather, to be punished. 

They had my brother on his knees, and his hands tied above him. I did all I could to convince Absalom that it was unnecessary, but instead of arguing back, he simply handed me the bladed whip. 

‘Beat him within an inch of his life to ensure this never happens again. Because he is your responsibility, it is your duty.’

All eyes were on me. If I were who I was today, I would have taken the beating for him...

But I was not that person. My kin patiently waited, as if there was no other option but to beat my brother until his soul urged to leave his vessel. 

And so I did just that. The first blow on his back was but only one of hundreds I would make. Soon, his grunts turned into whimpers. And whimpers turned to screams. 

By the end, Strife’s back and legs were pooled with blood and detached skin. His head laid back after going unconscious. For many nights, we left him there to scab over and suffer. 

Our... relationship was never the same afterwards. If I could go back, I would see him spared.”

—

Ether had let her tears fall onto her father’s suit. No wonder they were so... hostile towards each other, “I’m... so sorry.”

Death shook his head, “Nothing to be sorry for, my child. It was long ago. Very long ago.”

Ether nodded, wiping away her tears, “Well, I suppose now we can only be thankful he talks to you.”

Her father gave a soft smile, humming in agreement, “You are right.” 

Ether gulped, letting his fingers slip through her own, “Thank you for telling me that story.”

Death nodded, “You are welcome.” 

“And... I was not kidding about moving father.”

“I know. You would never lie,” he took her hand once more and placed a soft kiss on it, “Do what you must. But may I ask where it is you’re going?”

Ether smiled, “Azrael has agreed to, well, take me under his wing,” she giggled at the pun, “He’s taking me to the White City where I shall study under him.”

Death’s brows raised, “Has he? Hmph... looks like I might need to have a chat with him.”

She shook his shoulder in annoyance, “Father! Don’t scare him off! I want this!” 

“I’m only teasing, Ether. I would not reap you of this opportunity,” he chuckled. 

“Hey, I’m the only one allowed to tell puns,” she hugged his neck, laughing, “I’ll be gone awhile, but I’ll be back.” 

Death placed a hand on her back, enjoying her embrace while it lasted, “I know you will.”


End file.
